


Scenes From A Life Lived Beneath the Surface

by Quietbang



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, DADT, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietbang/pseuds/Quietbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Forget it, the moment's passed.”<br/>“Couldn't it come again?”<br/>“Nope, the moment's not sixteen anymore. It needs dinner first, at the very least.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From A Life Lived Beneath the Surface

Scenes from a Life Lived Beneath the Surface

I

 _Riiing  
_

 _riing  
_

 _riing  
_

 _rii- click-_  


“- _Daniel Jackson”  
_

 _“It's me.”  
_

 _“Jack?”  
_

 _“You expecting someone else?”  
_

 _“No. What's wrong?”  
_

 _“Now, why would you say something like that?”  
_

 _“Because you never call me on my cell phone unless something's wrong. You hate technology. You're worse than my grandfather.”  
_

 _“What, than_ Nick _? Isn't he still getting up close and personal with whassisname-Quasimodo?”  
_

 _“Worse than my grandfather_ was _, then.”_

 _“Hasn't he been in a loony bin since the days before the fax machine?”  
_

 _“Jack, allow me to introduce you to the concept of hyperbole. The point is that you hate technology.”  
_

 _“Yes, I do.”  
_

 _“So what's wrong?”  
_

 _“Where are you?”  
_

 _“Uh- my living room. Why?”  
_

 _“Do you still have a tv?”  
_

 _“I thought we agreed we weren't going to do that anymore.”  
_

 _“Wha- we did! That's not what I meant!”  
_

 _“Hmm. How disappointing. What do you want, Jack?”  
_

 _“Turn on the television. CNN.”_

 _\--_

 _“Huh.”  
_

 _“Huh?”  
_

 _“They finally did it.”  
_

 _“Took them long enough.”_

 _“Aren't you the one who said that 'these things take time'? Is this for real?”  
_

 _“Near as I can tell. 'Course, the ratbags could still repeal it if they get in next year, but from what I've been hearing, they're pretty serious about it.”  
_

 _“Did you have anything to do with this?”_

 _\--_

 _“Jack?”  
_

 _“I'm trying to figure out the verbal equivalent of a shrug.”  
_

 _“Well, actually, some cultures with tonal languages use a alveolar fricative to denote-”  
_

 _“I was joking, Daniel.”  
_

 _“So was I, Jack.”  
_

 _“Ah.”  
_

 _“I notice you're not answering my question.”_

 _“Huh. And here I thought I was being subtle about it.”  
_

 _“Sorry.”  
_

 _“Ah, well, ya can't have everything.”  
_

 _“So I'm told.”  
_

 _\--  
_

 _“Did you know?”  
_

 _“I knew it was in the works. Davis knew more than I did, I think, liaising with the Joint Chiefs. It's not really a Homeworld issue.”_

 _\--_

 _“Are you okay, Jack?”  
_

 _“Me? Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”  
_

 __Another pause, this one more significant than the others. _  
_

 _“Yeah.”_ A sigh. _“Yeah, I'm fine. Just- surprised, I guess. I never thought I'd see it get this far. DADT- Christ, I remember when that was progress.”  
_

 _“So do I.”  
_

 _“It's not the same thing.”  
_

 _“No, it's not.”_

 _\--  
_

 _“It makes me feel old.”  
_

 _“I know.”  
_

 _“I hate being old.”  
_

 _“I know.”_

 _“I hate my job, too.”  
_

 _“I_ know _, Jack. You also hate peach juice, party politics, Tide laundry soap, and incense. We've had this conversation before.”_

 _\--  
_

 _“Fuck you.”  
_

 _“Please, be my guest.”  
_

 _-snort-  
_

 _“Jack?”  
_

 _“Daniel?”  
_

 _“I-”_

 _“-Don't say it, Daniel. Please.”_ Please. _  
_

“Fine.”  


 _“Goodbye, Daniel.”  
_

 _“Goodbye, Jack.”  
_

 

II _October 1st, 2011_  
Jack found out over the phone that Daniel had died again.  
Part of him was grateful for that- a small, shameful part, because you can take the altar boy out of the Church but not the other way round _-benidictus tu is muleribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iusus (ChristhasdiedChristisrisenChristwillcomeagain)_ \- but most of him was furious, because he was the closest thing to family that man had, he was _team_ , he was, to be honest, maybe a little bit more than that, once upon a time, and _Goddammit didn't that mean anything anymore?_  
Except he couldn't be mad, not really. Because Sam was at Area 51, expecting her second child and apparently as happy as a pig in shit, and Teal'c was on Chulak, and he was in Washington, and there was nothing remaining of SG-1 as it was except war stories and a hundred hungry ghosts.

Nothing except Daniel, but not even him, because the soldier who had died-risen-been hurt bared so little resemblance to the thin, arrogant academic of yesteryear that it may as well be an entirely different person. Of course, that wasn't new- Daniel spent more years as a soldier than he did as scholar, but as long as Jack was still in command, they all did him the courtesy of pretending not to notice. The new Daniel, the post-them, post-Goa'uld, post-Ori, post- _war_ Daniel was unabashedly strong, fierce, cynical and cuttingly sarcastic.

Jack doesn't _miss_ the Daniel-that-was, exactly, so much as he regrets the change- because he knows Daniel _does_. That he misses optimism, misses belief, misses walking into a room without feeling the need to keep an eye on the exits and any weapons at all times. That he misses thinking that humanity as a whole was capable of altruism.

All said and done it took three days before someone remembered to call Jack and tell him that Daniel was in the infirmary, no longer dead but barely alive, and that the doctors were worried but cautiously optimistic. It took Jack less than half an hour to secure a flight to Colorado Springs, pack, and convince Paul to clear his schedule for the next few days.  
(Actually, Paul had been strangely agreeable to the whole things, and Jack wasn't looking any closer at the strange half-smirk Paul had sported when he told him that he was going to Daniel, he _wasn't_ , because Lord knew what Daniel had drunkenly confided in him over the years, and his blood pressure was high enough as it is without having to entertain thoughts of yenta aides.)

It felt strange to walk in in civilian clothes- jeans and a t-shirt- but goddammit it was nearly 11 o'clock at night when he got in, and he didn't own BDUs anymore, and he flat out _refused_ to wear dress blues to sit in a plastic infirmary chair all night.

It took almost forty minutes to sign in, exchange pleasantries with Landry's replacement, a General Stosius ( a good man, but one who'd clearly been in a chair too long, if he could think that Jack gave a good goddamn about administrative trivia or small talk when one of his teammates was lying in a hospital bed). By the time he finally- _finally_ reached the infirmary and the bed that was apparently still considered by all to be 'Daniel's', he'd built up a huge head of steam that was only too happy to be expelled at the first obvious target.

That said target happened to be Cameron Mitchell, and who _happened_ to be sitting in the chair - _Jack's chair_ , his traitorous brain supplied unhelpfully- at Daniel's bedside was merely coincidence.

“Colonel Mitchell!” he snapped “Report. What the hell happened out there?”

Mitchell started out of whatever haze he'd been in and attempted to salute and smoothly transition into parade rest.  
It didn't go well.

Equilibrium somewhat regained, he cleared his throat “General O'Neill, sir! Sir, Doctor Jackson here was on PZ7 13Y-”

“-Wait,” Jack said, “I know this one. Planet of the sea monkeys, right?” He smiled slightly, but his eyes remained as hard as marble.

“-uh- Yes, sir. Anyway, Jackson was on PZ7 13Y with SG-12 as part of an ongoing attempt to broker a diplomatic end to their planetary civil war. We normally wouldn't care, but as I'm sure you're aware, General, the Helarusians have naturally occurring naquadah in the soil. SG-13 consists entirely of civilians with very little combat experience, and Jackson was therefore forced to try and defend them when it all-”  


“-Went to hell?”  


“ Uh-” Cam looked guilty. “Yeah.”  


Jack snorted. An entire 'gate team of civilians? Who's bright idea had that been? ( _Yours,_ the traitorous voice in his brain supplied. _Yeah,_ he responded, and Jesus Mary and Joseph he really had lost it _But they were never supposed to go out on their own! There should have been Marines with them. _ His brain shrugged, and Jack conceded defeat.)

“He sent two members of the team to call for the cavalry, and he remained with Drs Walliams and Stoyesko, both of whom had sustained serious injusries. By the time we arrived, he had sustained severe injuries throughout his body, including gunshot wounds to the chest, shoulder, and knee, several broken bones, and burn injuries throughout consistent with torture. We assume, from what we've been able to piece together from SG-13, that a mistranslation was made which resulted in the Helarusians accusing Dr. Jackson and SG-13 of espionage. There was a struggle in which Jackson held off their attackers in time for several members of SG-13 to escape. When we got there, it was clear that they had been interrogated and found wanting. We brought 'im home, sir, but it was too late for the others.”  


 _Fuck. Why does this stuff always happen to Daniel?_

“Yes, you did.” Jack sighed heavily. “I heard he died again.”

Mitchell paled noticeably. “Yes, sir. He did. Several times, actually.”  


This quiet clarification was enough to turn Jack's stomach, and to prevent him from asking for more details.  
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Thank you. At ease.”  


“Actually, sir,” Mitchell said, “I think I'll go and grab some sleep. Leave you guys alone for a while. He should wake up soon.”  


Jack was tired, but he would had to have been blind to miss the significant look being shot his way.  


He raised his eyebrows.  


Mitchell smirked as he walked out the door. “You know, sir, he talks in his sleep.”  


The admittedly small part of his brain that wasn't occupied with preventing himself from shouting 'And how exactly do _you_ know that, Mitchell?' noted wearily that Mitchell was the second person that day who apparently knew that they had been in a relationship. Honestly, it was enough to make a person miss the bad old days of DADT (except it wasn't at all) . At least then there had been no fear of his subordinates talking about his sex life.

III  


“C'm?” the voice, thick with pain and sleep, was still familiar enough to jar Jack out of a restless sleep. He suppressed the jealous rage that shot through him at the sound of Mitchell's name- once upon a time, Daniel had called for Jack first, always- because he'd be damned before he went down that road again.  


Rubbing at the phantom twinge in his jaw, Jack said, in an irony-suffused voice “Nope. Sorry to disappoint. But I'm sure I could get him, if that's what you want.”   


It's possible that he was not altogether successful at keeping the jealousy out of his voice, because Daniel's first words were “No, don't be silly, of course not. Jack? How- Why- When did you get here?”

“Good.” Jack tried and failed to keep the note of satisfaction out of his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I died.” Daniel said dryly.

Jack laughed. “Well, that's probably a good thing. Means there's no lasting nerve damage. Where's your damned call-button, I expect Lam will wanna see you.”

....  
 _Five years previously.  
_ Jack had come down for a 'visit', ostensibly to meet with Landry about the Ori threat, but his true purpose became clear when he stalked into Daniel's office, disabled the security camera, and locked the door from the inside.

“Please tell me you're not fucking Cameron Mitchell.”

“Would it matter if I was?”

“Yes! He's in the Air Force, for chrissakes, and he's on your team.”

“So were you.”

“Yes, and we all remember exactly how well that turned out, don't we?”

A snort. “Actually, Jack, as I recall that ended with me dead and you in Sam's bed. So I guess it's all a matter of perspective, really.”

“Daniel-” _I'm sorry,_ Jack thought. _I'm so goddamn sorry. ___

“Don't.” Daniel rubbed his eyes wearily and stood up. “Just don't. This was a bad idea. Go home, Jack.”

Jack stood, too. “Daniel, wait.”

“I've waited long enough, Jack, don't you think? Go home.”  
Mutely, Jack shook his head.

“Fine.” Daniel began walking towards the door. “I'll go, then. And Jack? I'm not fucking Cam. He's straight, for one.”

“That never stopped you before.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and he winced inwardly.

Jack should have expected the blow, but he didn't, and so it knocked him to the ground in a wordless crumple of shock and pain.

“Don't you _dare_ pin that on me, Jack. I don't know who you think you're fooling, but that stops now, because you _do not get to blame me_. I'm sorry if I was never in your _plan_ , Jack, I'm sorry if you hate yourself, and I'm so sorry that I upset your perfect little heterosexual repression scheme you had going on there, but you do not get to blame me. I was content to be your friend, Jack, and you made the first move. So don't you dare blame that on me.”

Daniel turned on his heel and began to leave. At the door, he paused “Oh, and Jack?” He seemed to smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. “I never regretted it.”

“I did.”

Daniel froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“I regret a whole hell of a lot of things, Danny. Not us, not really but that uniform comes first. It has to, otherwise why am I fighting in the first place? I've given up a lot of goddamned things for that uniform, but-”  
Daniel cut him off, eyes flashing with anger.

“What you've given up-” Daniel stops himself, and his eyes go soft and blank, compassionate voids that cradle you even as they fall. “What you've- Jack, I know. _I know_. More than you can understand. But- God, you signed up for this. I didn't. When I think of what I've sacrificed for that uniform-”  
He cuts himself off again, and, if possible, his eyes go even blanker, micro-tremors running through the muscles in his hands and jaw.

 _But wait,_ Jack thinks, _that's not how this conversation is supposed to go._ Daniel is a civilian and besides, he had always been the gentle one, the one who caught you when you fell and who politely ignored your attempts to lash out at him for doing so. He was supposed to be the strong one, when it came to this.

“Jack,” Daniel said softly, “Jack, I don't- I _never_ wanted to see you court martialed either. It- it would've killed me to watch it happen. Still would. But- don't you think we've both given up enough on the altar of the Air Force?”

“Daniel- What the hell does that even _mean_?”

Daniel closed his eyes. “It means I've had enough.”

“Daniel?” Jack is hesitant now, and yeah, he'd _noticed_ , he'd seen that Daniel was running out of steam, but he hadn't seen this. Daniel hadn't wanted him too.

“I never thought I'd see forty, Jack, did you know that? Even in my fantasies, the places I'd go in my head when things got to be too much- I never thought I'd be old. Never thought I'd get married or, or have children. And sure, part of that was just adolescent nihilism, but part of that was because I was a damn lot smarter than I gave myself credit for. I knew I didn't deserve happiness, Jack, didn't deserve to grow old with a charming partner by my side, and it turns out- what do you know? Turns out the universe agrees with me. Every time- every. Single. Goddamn. Time. That I get even close to happiness, that I allow myself to think, for even a second, that I've got something good, that maybe, maybe this will be the one that lasts, it gets thrown into my face. Usually by your precious Air Force. And I can't do it anymore, Jack. I've been alone for so long that I think I've forgotten what it's like not to be. Maybe that's better. I don't even know anymore.”

Daniel's face was flushed with anger, and his eyes glinted like steel. Good. That was better than that terrible, all-encompassing blankness. Jack flinched at the ugly words as they came out, Daniel's razor sharp tongue directed only at himself. He wasn't invited to this party, Jack realised. This was Daniel's breakdown, not his.  
Jack stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. “I'll see you at Cassie's birthday party. It's at six, right?”  
He reached out a callused hand to stroke Daniel's cheek, who unconsciously leaned into the contact.  
“Uh- Yeah. Yes. Yes it is.”  
“Good.”  
Jack walked out of the room, leaving a stunned Daniel Jackson in his wake.  
...  


Daniel hadn't spoken to him for almost an entire year after that. Then, out of the blue, Jack had gotten a phone call at 1 in the morning.  


 _“O'Neill”  
_

 _“Jack?”_ his voice had sounded strange, far-away, and a little uncertain.  


 _“Daniel?”  
_

 _“Yeah. Uh, yeah. Jack, listen, I'm calling to apologise. I wasn't- I mean, you had a right- you couldn't have known.”  
_

 _“No, I couldn't have.”  
_

 _“I..If you could go back in time and change things, change it all- would you do it?”  
_

 _“Daniel.”  
_

 _“No, I mean it. Don't answer, then. Just- listen to me. I-I wouldn't. Even if it meant that, that I was happier, or-or you- God, I know it's selfish, but I wouldn't change a thing. Because if I did, then- we wouldn't have met. None of us. We wouldn't have gone through the Stargate- we- we might have been happier, but would it have even been real? -I'm sorry, don't answer that. I'm maudlin tonight.”  
_

 _“John Stuart Mill said that it is unnatural to crave ignorance; that no man desires stupidity even if it would mean that they were happy, because that happiness would be an illusion.”  
_

 __It wasn't an apology, but it was something.  


 _“...Wow. I-I'm impressed.”  
_

 _“Shocked, you mean. I do_ read _, Daniel.”  
_

 _“That's not why I'm shocked. I always knew that you're smarter than you like other people to think. I'm just shocked that_ you're _willing to admit to it.”_

 __

 _“Yeah, well, I'm getting soft in my old age.”  
_

 _“You're not old, Jack.”  
_

 _“Just soft, then?”  
_

 _“Well, I was_ going _to say something, but...”  
_

 _“Jackass.”  
_

 _“Who, me?”  
_

 _“Daniel.”  
_

 _“What?”  
_

 _“Are you alright?”  
_

 _“I- I am, actually. I feel better than I have for a long time.”  
_

 _“Hmm.”_

 _“Don't hmm me, Jack.”_ his voice had faltered. _“I- I really am sorry, you know.”  
_

 _“I know. So am I.”_

 _“Jack?”  
_

 _“Daniel?”  
_

 _“I miss you.”  
_

 _“I miss you too, Danny. It's good to hear from you.”  
_

 __Neither of them had been able to make themselves hang up the phone, so eventually they had both drifted off to sleep, still on the line.  


After that, their relationship had, slowly but surely, progressed back to what was normal, for them, or to what normal had been ever since Daniel rejoined the mortal plane and seemed to leave a piece of himself behind, since Jack accepted the promotion to Washington. Weekly phone calls, daily e-mails. Neither of them brought up the night Daniel had punched him. They didn't know how.  


Neither of them spoke of their relationship, either, for fear that if they acknowledged what they once had, could still have, they would lose the willpower that was all that stood between Jack and early retirement.  


   
...

 

Jack stood up. “Actually, why don't I go grab us a bite from the mess and send Lam in on my way out? Give you some privacy.” The words felt alien on his tongue, but _it's been five years _, and maybe Daniel wants privacy. Maybe Daniel isn't even glad to see him. Maybe-  
__

 _Daniel cut off that train of thought by opening his mouth. “Wha? No, J'ck, do'n go.” His lips are clumsy, the words thick and heavy.  
_

 _“I'm coming back.”  
_

 _“No.” Daniel gasped in pain as he tried to push himself up on his arms. “-No. Stay. Please? For me?”  
_

 _Jack smiled and sat. “Why don't you want me to go?” (His brain mentally shook its finger at Jack for taking advantage of the younger man's heavily medicated state, but  
Jack needed to know. Needed to know if this was just Daniel, some weird underdeveloped part of his brain fearing abandonment and thus clinging, or if this was something more. If he still had a shot at this at after all.)  
_

 _Daniel crinkled his eyebrows, suggesting that, on some level, he was aware of the method to Jack's madness.  
_

 _“'Cause I like you.” he mumbled. “Miss you. Do'n wanna be alone anym're.” He attempted to smile, but it came out as a wince.  
_

 _“I'm prob'ly gonna regret this lat'r,” he continued, “But I n'vr st'pped loving you. I jus' want you to kn'w tha', in case...” he trailed off.  
_

 _“Oh, for Chrissakes, you are _not_ going to die, Daniel Jackson.” he lowered his voice. “Neither did I.”  
_

Daniel blinked at him blearily. “We m'ke a fine pair, don' we?”  


Jack snorted. “Fine pair of idiots, maybe.” He knelt close over the bed. “I'm gonna make it up to you, Danny. You and me. Just you wait.” He pressed his lips to his Daniel's.

As first kisses go(which it wasn't, not really, but the ones they had shared half a lifetime ago had been so different, between two such different people, that Jack wasn't sure they even counted as occurring between _them_ ) it wasn't fantastic. Jack was tired, and rumpled, and stank of sweat, aeroplane and stale coffee. Daniel smelled like death, and hospital room, and his lips were chapped and peeling. Empirically, it was about as erotic as kissing your grandfather.  
Emotionally, however, it was among the sexiest things either of them had ever experienced, more so than any they had shared when they were actually – doing whatever they were doing, “dating” sounds so wrong for what they had, and too junior-high besides- because those had been hard, and desperate, and almost angry, snatched in the furious moments preceding a good fuck; those 'kisses' barely deserved the name. This, however, spoke not of sex but of care, and of love, and most of all of promise. The promise of a future, shared.

IV  


“What, you think I should make it easy for you?”  


Daniel's voice was low, sardonic, amused. His lips curled around every word, and it was enough to make Jack fantasize about how those same lips would look-  


“Hmm?” Jack jerked guiltily back to the present. “Well, no, but- Oh, come on, Daniel! You like me, I like you, I'm old, you're old- what more do ya want?”  


“Speak for yourself.” Daniel looked mildly affronted, his look of scorched dignity undone only by the fact that he was sitting on his ratty, threadbare sofa wearing sweatpants and little else.  


Jack let himself look, astonished that he was finally allowed the luxury of inspecting, of seeing- seeing every new scar and wound, the puckered knots of flesh serving as better pricks to his conscience than any of the bitter words Daniel had ever thrown his way.   _'You should have been here_ they seem to mock. Or maybe _'he's still better off without you'_.  


It said something for his current emotional state that not even Jack's psychosomatic guilt trips were managing to remain remotely consistent.  


“Sorry to disappoint you, Danny-boy, but I can definitely see some grey.”  


“If you're not careful,” Daniel said in a mild, disinterested tone. “Then that's all you'll be seeing.”  


Jack swallowed. Hard.  


“Anyone ever tell you that you're evil?”  


“And lived to tell the tale? No.”  


“Right. And that's including the time that you blew up Moscow?”  


“That was a dream!”  


   


“I thought you said it was an alternate reality?” 

“Well, _yes_ , but-”  


“So? You have to choose, Daniel. Either it was a dream sent to you by a weird mystical-ancient snake baby, or it was an alternate reality.”  


“Gosh,” Daniel said dryly. “And I was just beginning to miss our little chats on metaphysics.”  


“Aht!” Jack pointed a finger sternly at the snickering man.  


It did not have the desired effect.  


“You seem to be forgetting,” Daniel observed, “Just how much power I hold in this little situation, here.”  


At that, Jack's mouth dried, and his cock twitched.  


Daniel smiled sweetly.  


“Fine,” Jack scowled menacingly. “What are your terms? Do you want me to, I don't know, fight Vala for your honour?” _Not that you have any._  


Daniel looked startled. “Are you _still_ hung-up over her? God, Jack that was years ago, and besides, nothing really- well, except for that one time, but that's not the point. The point is-”  


Jack growled.  


“-she and Lt Melwright seem very happy together. Have been for years, in fact, apparently she proposed- seriously, do you ever read my e-mails?”

 “Most of them.” His brain caught up with the phrases it was hearing (having gone off into the proverbial sunset at the first mention of Vala's name). “Wait- Vala is a _lesbian_?”  


Daniel surveyed him disapprovingly. “Come now, Jack.” he said mildly. “I know it's been a long time, but surely I don't have to explain the concept of bisexuality to you of all people.” The word 'again' was unspoken, but nonetheless very real.  


“Of course not.” Jack said with dignity. “I am totally familiar with the Kinsmet scale and all it's wonders as explained to me by this annoying social sciences-type I used to know.”  


“Kinsey scale,” Daniel corrected. “Well, you know what they say about those social-science types.”  


“I do?”

 “Jack!” Daniel said, exasperated. “That was the part where you say, 'maybe I need a reminder', or something, and then you drag me off to my bedroom and we have wild and passionate sex!”  


Oh.  


Jack made to reach for Daniel's shoulder.  


He jerked away.  


“Forget it, the moment's passed.”  


“Couldn't it come again?”  


“Nope, the moment's not sixteen anymore. It needs dinner first, at the very least.”  


Jack sighed, then reached out and took Daniel's hand.  


He did not jerk away.  


“Dinner,” Jack said easily. “I think I could handle that.”

 

V  
 _June 17th, 2016_  


In the wilds of Minnesota, 50 miles north-northwest of everywhere, there is a cabin. The logs gleam in the sunlight, weathered slightly grey by the licks of a biting wind, and a blue painted door opens up into a neatly cultivated patch of something that is almost but not quite entirely unlike violets. (Daniel had found them in his travels on Earth, years ago, and kept the seed. He refused to tell Jack where, precisely, harbouring under the delusion that the mystery made him seem sexier. Jack allowed him to have his delusions.)  


Inside, the smell of ink and woodsmoke permeate the air. A carved wooden desk sits in the corner, piled with books, papers, and a slightly battered laptop. Hot oil spatters and spits the salty scent of fish from a heavy iron pan atop the stove. The walls are a light, airy grey-blue, and a large four poster bed sits kitty corner to the desk, neatly made up with Abydonian woven blankets and a red patchwork quilt that reminded Jack of the ones that his grandmother used to make. The covers are rumpled, and a silver-haired man grumbles under his breath when the sunlight streams onto his face.  


It is morning.  


The other man laughs and playfully swats the first as he passes by. He has been up for hours, and funny though it is that after years of ragging Daniel for sleeping late, it's Jack who turns out to be the lazy one, he merely smiles tolerantly and attends to the frying fish and eggs. The years have been kind to him, the warm morning light more so, blurring the fine networks of wrinkles and smile lines around his eyes, hiding the streaks of silver in the temples of the shaggy brown hair. In this light, he could be twenty-five again.  


Except when he was twenty-five, he didn't look like this. When he was twenty-five he was thin and pale and _desperate_ ; run through with tremors from too much coffee and not enough food. Today, an aura of contentment seems to emanate from him, and if it weren't for the way he now carried himself, mindful of his leg and the crooked way he now walked, if it weren't for the way his eyes seemed to see through you sometimes, communing with spirits who were not there and who disappointed him besides, you could be forgiven for thinking that Dr. Daniel Jackson must have had a very easy life.  


And he did.  


In another life, a life where that cover stone didn't fall, a life where Daniel Jackson grew up loved and wanted and safe, a life where he always had enough to eat and believed that monsters lived in storybooks.  


In another life, Daniel Jackson didn't lose everything. Didn't lose his job, his self-respect, his friends, his life, after risking it all on some crack-pot theory.  


In another life, Daniel didn't open the 'Gate.  


In another life, Daniel could walk without a cane.  


In another life, Jack O'Neill lay alone in the cold earth, not unmourned but unmentioned, with a bullet in his brain.  


In another life, Anubis' fleets attacked earth, and nobody was there to stop him when he came.  


In another life, that was not this life, Daniel never knew true happiness.  


Because happiness is not a warm gun, but it's not peace, and it's certainly not ignorance either. Happiness is knowing how good you've got it, because you've seen how far there is to fall. Happiness is finding someone you love, and who loves you, not in spite of their scars but for them.  


Happiness is fighting, rip-roaring, glorious fights that make dogs bark two roads over.  


Happiness is make-up sex.  


Happiness is emerging from a life lived underground, and walking amongst the surface-dwellers with a smile on your face.  


All of which means that, for Jack and Daniel, happiness is a life, shared.


End file.
